The Way Back
by The Purple Pineapple
Summary: Fitz and Liv trying to reconnect, heal and find their way back to each other. Trying to build back up their broken dreams.
1. Prologue

**A one-shot. Maybe. I just needed to get this out of my head. But there are still bits and pieces whizzing around, forever distracting me from revision. **

It started snowing. The first snow that winter. Snowflakes waltzing through the air, lazily falling to the ground, dreamily coating the trees, as they speed by. Her hand is in his. Soft. Relaxed. Lost in the warmth and familiarity. She turns away from the window. Smiling. Beaming. She loves the snow. It makes everything look serene. Magical. The white covering the cracks, hiding them below the surface; making the world seem perfect for a little while. No, not perfect. But better. Less broken. He moves his hand to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and she feels the absence in hers instantly. She needs him. She hates to admit it, but he loves that she can. She finally can. She needs him and he needs her, and they understand. They know. They know all about the love, and the need, the passion and the calm. They know, because they're in sync. They have always been, but now, now it's different. Because they're not just breathing in sync, they _are _in sync. And it's everything. And they know. So he looks at her, his eyes telling her that he knows, and he feels it too. He looks at her, and he sees his future, their future, because he knows – she'll have her eyes, full of love, full of life. And then she rips her eyes away from him, and he can see her screaming, but he doesn't hear. No he does not hear. He hears everything, but her. He can see her flying back, and he tries, but he can't, he can't keep her. And she's disappearing, being swallowed up by the light. And he awakes.

The morning sun peering through the window. Bright. White. He doesn't want to open his eyes, because he knows, he knows that she's not there. He can feel it. He doesn't need to see it. He rolls out the other side of the bed, without ever looking. No, he avoids.

He walks out of the shower as she's walking in. And they exchange – Good morning-s, even though it's not. Even though it hasn't been. Not for a while. Not since that night. And they pass each other like strangers. Their hands touch, and for a moment they take each-others' breath away. Like they used to. Like before. It's too much. It's always been too much, but now it hurts. So she moves away. He lingers for another second, pretending she's still next to him. But she hasn't been. Not for a while. Not since that night. And they both leave. They go to work. And they stay there until it's late. Until it's too late. Hoping that the other one will be asleep when they come back.

This time she wins. He's already asleep. And she watches him for a while. For forever. And she doesn't know how they got here. They lost more than a baby that night. They lost them. And she doesn't know how to get it back. Because she's looking at him, but it's like she no longer sees him. She sees the loss and the pain. She sees the could-have-beens, and the should-have-beens, and it hurts. She looks at him and no longer sees her future, just her past. And it's too much. And she cries. Quietly at first. And then she sobs. She lets out all the silent cries, all the unshed tears. And she can't stop. And she knows he's holding her. And for a while they're one again. For a while she's lost in him again, in the warmth and the familiarity. For a while she needs him and he needs her. And for a while they understand, and they know again. They know all about the loss, and the pain, the resentment and the anger. They know, because they're in sync. They have always been, but now, now it's different. Because they're grieving in sync, they are crying in sync. And for a while it's everything. They fall asleep. Soaked in tears.

And there's a flash of light again. And she awakes. She doesn't want to open her eyes, because she knows, she knows that he's there. She can feel it. She doesn't need to see it. She rolls out the other side of the bed, without ever looking. No, she avoids. Just like he has been.

And she's in the water. Trying to drown the burning inside of her. Trying to stop. But instead she keeps pushing. She can hear her heart beating in her ears. Drumming. But she keeps pushing. And pushing. And maybe if she keeps pushing, hard enough, long enough, he'll walk away. Because she can't. And they can't stay, not this way. And she's out of the pool, and then she's driving home.

She walks into the shower as he's walking out. And they exchange – Good morning-s, even though it's not. Even though it hasn't been. Not for a while. Not since that night. And they pass each other like strangers. Their hands don't touch, but they still take each-others' breath away. Like they used to. Like before. It's still too much. It still hurts. So she moves away. He lingers for another second, pretending she's still next to him. But they both know she's gone. They're gone. And they both leave. They go to work. And they stay there until it's late. Until it's too late. Hoping that the other one will be asleep when they come back. But they're wrong. They're still in sync. They still think the same. And they feel the same. But they no longer know. And it's killing them.

And this time no one wins. He comes back and she's still awake. And he knows what she's about to say. And she says it – and it hurts, more than he thought it would. She slept with someone else. And he hears little after that. She's pushing him away. And he's letting her.

She wakes up the next morning. And she opens her eyes. He's not there. She can no longer feel it. She needs to see it. And for a split second she's relieved. And then she can't breathe. She's pushed him away. And the thought, the realization suffocates her. And she stops. No longer pushing.

He knew. He knew when it happened. He could feel it. Her guilt. He knew guilt. Like he knew her. He'd been drowning in it, living with it. He knew guilt. And he knew her. So he knew. He knew and he forgave her. Long before she told him. He forgave her, _because_ he knew. He still understood and he still knew. Because they were still in sync. They still thought the same. They still felt the same. So he knew. And he forgave her. Telling him, she was trying to hurt him. She wanted to hurt him. She wanted him to walk away. Because she couldn't. And they couldn't stay, not this way.

He opens the door. And she's still there. And he can't walk away. So instead he lays next to her. And he holds her. And he asks her is she's done pushing him away. Her body tenses up, and he can't breathe. This was a mistake. She doesn't want him to stay. And he can't breathe, his breath lodged in his throat, but it doesn't feel like air, it feels like pain. Just pain. But she doesn't pull away. She turns around. And she kisses him. Soft. Like a hello, not a goodbye. She kisses him and he's kissing her back. And she's whispering she's sorry. And he is too. And they stay like that. Not moving. But no longer stuck in time and space.

They don't dream of the flashing light. Of the snow covering the cracks. Theirs are out in the open. But they're better. They're less broken. They don't dream of the past. They don't dream of her. They don't dream. Because the reality is no longer so awful, so lonely. The reality could become the dream again. They wake up, and they open their eyes. Because they can feel, but they do want to see.


	2. The Cheater

She meets him on her way to work, in line to get coffee. He's handsome. And nice. And his smile reaches his eyes; something she hasn't seen in a while. He gives her his card. She's not going to use it. But she doesn't throw it away.

It's a year today. But it doesn't feel like a year. It feels like 364 days. Because a year, a year is a whole, a flow of time; this, this doesn't feel like that. It feels like little chunks, like repeated struggles and defeats, like a replay of regrets. A year implies movement, but there's been no movement here. No, not any. They're frozen in time. Each day a broken chunk. A sum of minutes, but not a sum of moments. So today, today is no worse than other days. Not for her. But for him, he blames himself. Today, more than other days. Today is worse. So he's drinking when she comes home. He's letting the scotch burn through him, because it makes the guilt burn less. And she knows she's the only one who can make him feel better. But she doesn't want to. Because although she knows she shouldn't, although she knows it's not his fault, she blames him. She blames him and she hates herself for it. She hates herself because she knows she could take his pain away, but she doesn't have it in her. She knows she could fix, but she doesn't want to. And it's all too much, so she leaves.

She hopes the cold will clear her head. And it does, but all she feels is guilt. So much guilt. And she can't take it. Not anymore. So she pulls out her phone and the card that she never threw away, and she calls him. And they're at the bar. He's saying things, but doesn't hear them. She smiles and looks through him, but he doesn't notice. Or maybe he does, but he doesn't care. He touches her and she doesn't pull away. She doesn't.

It's all a blur. The hotel room smells foreign; the artificial freshness smells dirty, smells like betrayal. She's taking off his clothes. Ripping them off, before she changes her mind. She needs this. She doesn't look at him. No, she looks at the ceiling. It all feels wrong. So wrong. He wants to stay, but she makes him leave. And as she closes the door, she collapses on the floor and sobs.

She takes a shower. No track of time. She doesn't feel anything. Just the pain of the hot water running down her skin. It's getting red; raw. It's the scarlet letter. But she doesn't stop. No, she lets it run, until she can no longer feel the burning. Until she is numb. But she can still feel him on her; she doesn't think she'll ever not.

She walks into their bedroom. He's asleep. And she feels overwhelming guilt. But it's no longer the guilt that's been eating her alive for the past year. No, it's a different kind of guilt. A guilt she can live with. A guilt over what she's broken, rather than the guilt over what she refuses to fix. A guilt over something she's done, rather than guilt over what he's done. She no longer blames him, and that that will help him stop blaming himself. If it helps him, if it fixes him, she can live with her guilt.

She doesn't sleep that night. Or most of the other nights before she tells him. She swims, hoping the water will wash it away. Not the guilt, but the shame. The betrayal. It doesn't. And she thinks he knows. He saw the burns. He felt the sleeplessness. But most of all he noticed the guilt in her eyes, and the lack of blame. He knows, and she thinks he doesn't care. He wants out, but doesn't want to walk away. So she pushes. She pushes, and she tells him and he leaves. And she's lying on the bed, alone; suffocating. It was a mistake. She doesn't want him to leave. And she can't breathe, her breath lodged in her throat, but it doesn't feel like air, it feels like pain. Just pain. But then he's there, holding her. And she turns around. And she kisses him. Soft. Like a hello, not a goodbye. She kisses him and he's kissing her back. And she's whispering she's sorry. And he is too. And they stay like that. Not moving. But no longer stuck in time and space.


	3. The Talk

They're lying in bed, looking at each other. They can see glimpses of the people they fell in love with, traces, shadows, but they're both wondering if the other is still in there. Not the same, no they are no longer the same, they will never be the same, but they wonder if a part of them that they loved, the part they fell in love with is still there. They're wondering not only if they can find each other, but if they can find them, if they can still be found, rescued, salvaged from the ruins of a shattered life. They need to talk, they know that they need to talk, but they're scared, both terrified. So they lie in bed a little while longer, hoping that when they do speak, when they finally put all their cards on the table, the other will stay and do the same. They lie in bed for a little while longer, and they hope. For the first time in months they hope, and that, that is already a start.

She speaks first, ever the fixer, now the guilty party. She speaks, and her voice trembles. It seems foreign, low and harsh, broken. She musters an apology, Liv finding her way to the surface the more she speaks, finding her way back. She needs to say it, all of it. How sorry she is for blaming him. How sorry she is for leaving him alone, for abandoning him, for drifting away. How sorry she is for running, for hiding. How sorry she is for cheating, how very sorry. And then, her voice trembles again, and she breaks the eye-contact; she doesn't want him to see her cry, no, she doesn't, he'll feel sorry, and she doesn't want him to; no, he needs to hear an apology, not a plea. So she fights back the tears, and finally looks up, and says her final sorry – "I'm so sorry I lost her."

And now it's his turn, because he can't believe what she's saying, he can't believe what she's thinking, he can't believe that that's what she's been thinking. He's sorry for not making her stay, for not finding her before she drifted away. But most of all he's sorry for letting her feel like any of this was her fault, like any of this was somehow her doing. No, he was to blame for their undoing.

And they apologize for a hundred other things. For a hundred other hurts, hundred other wounds. Wounds that only those you love can cause, and only they can heal. They apologize, not until they're running out of sorry-s, because they never will; no, they've hurt each other so much that it might take a lifetime to find a way back. They apologize until they no longer need to, until apologies turn into memories, memories into stories and stories grow into dreams. They are no longer apologizing, they are no longer desperately looking for a turning point, a breaking point; no longer searching for the moments they failed. They are no longer speaking, they are talking instead. They are exploring the glimpses that they see. And the more they talk, the more they realize that the other one is still there, that _they_ are still there. The love is still there. Because although a part of them is gone, and the rest is damaged, some of it beyond repair, the rest of them, the rest of love is still there. The thing about them, the way they loved, the way they were – it was never _a_ part they fell in love with, it was everything, instantly. And as the fear is leaving them, the hope becoming real, for the first time in a while, for the first time since the night in the car, they are not just looking at each other, they are seeing each other. And in that there's novelty, and love, no longer desperation; and there's a realization that they survived, that they lost so many battles, yet somehow they haven't lost the war.


	4. The Two Sundays

**Sorry it took me a while to update, but I was trying to wrap up ****_I Love You Too, _****before getting completely lost in this story :) So here goes.**

* * *

_He's sitting on the couch, his feet up on the coffee table, doing the Sunday crossword. She's sitting next to him, leaning against the couch arm, her feet in his lap. She's reading the rest of the newspaper, occasionally peering from behind it to look at him, just because she can, just because he's there. She feels a light flutter in her stomach, and he feels her tense up. He looks at her, questioning, worrying. _

_"I think she's kicking."_

_"She's not kicking Liv, she's too little."_

_"Well I'm telling you I can feel her. Maybe she's just really advanced for her age."_

_"I love you. And I love her. And I'm sure she is going to be very advanced for her age, if you have anything to do with it, but she's not kicking. All the baby books say she's not going to be kicking for at least another couple of months, so as advanced, and brilliant as you both are, it's probably just your stomach's way of reminding you that you haven't had breakfast."_

_" Well, she's not kicking any more, you've offended her!" She says through a pout, just barely managing to hold in a laugh._

_"We can't have her be offended, can we." And he's pulling her into his lap, as she laughs, the kind of laugh that saves fairies from withering away, that makes him believe in magic, that makes _him_ laugh. Her laugh, the sound of love. His hands moving slowly down her back, and he's kissing her neck, whispering softly, barely - "Have I mentioned that I love you, and I love her?" And with that they get lost in a kiss, finding themselves in each other. _

"Liv, what's on your mind?"

And with that she's back. She's back in their living room; in the there and then; reality no longer a dream; and she's gazing up at him. They've been walking on eggshells for a week, since she told him, since he came back, since they spoke, since they talked, since they saw. They've been walking on eggshells, because they're fragile, and this, whatever this is, is fragile. They've been broken for so long that they're scrambling to find the pieces, before they can even comprehend putting them back together. So instead of telling him she deflects. Because they've been sad, they've done sad, and they need to move on. She needs to move on. So she deflects. And he can see. He can see her pulling away, her defenses coming up, locking her in, keeping him out. So he does the only thing he can think of, the only thing left, he's clutching at straws. He's pulling her into his lap, but she doesn't laugh, instead she looks like she's about to cry. And instantly he's on the defensive, and she is too. They are no longer lovers, but momentary enemies; between them abyss.

"You can't just. We can't just… This. We, I – can't."

"Why? Why not? Is it because of him, because of that?" And he can tell he's hit the mark. He knows he's hitting low, playing dirty, but he needs to know.

But she's just looking at the floor, willing the tears away. And she whispers softly, barely – "Birth control."

"Don't you think we should talk about this? That I should have a say in this? That I am in this too?" He's yelling. He doesn't' mean to. But he is. Because he thinks that maybe, that way she'll hear.

She doesn't. "There's nothing to talk about. I have an appointment tomorrow." And with that she's out the door, and he's on the floor, throwing the crossword and the papers across the room; as far as the walls will let him.

* * *

"I'm not ready." She's leaning in the doorway, looking down at him. He puts the book on the nightstand, and looks up. Even in the semi-darkness he can tell she's been crying and it breaks his hear a little bit. Another little scar that will have to heal. "I'm not ready for another baby. I'm not ready to try again. I'm not ready. Not yet. And you can't just. No. That's not how we fix this. That's not. No."

"You think that's what I was trying to do? You think I was trying to get you pregnant after months of barely co-existing, after months of barely existing? You think that I wanted, that I want, a baby to fix this? No. I was trying to connect. I was trying to get through to you. Because there are moments when you're here, and you're you, and then you disappear behind your shield, and I don't know how to get you back. So yes, I was trying to fix, but not this, not everything, and not with a baby. I was just trying to… to find a way back. And I didn't know you were off birth control, because you didn't tell me. You don't tell me. You keep things from me, you internalize, you hide, and you leave me alone, while you're alone, stuck in your head. I didn't know. I don't know. Because you won't let me know."

And she's sitting on the bed, next to him and her hand is on his cheek. "He was nothing. It meant nothing. It was a mistake. And I am sorry. I am so sorry. I was trying to feel something, other than guilt, other than the suffocating guilt. I needed to reach my breaking point. But it was never meant to break you."

"I know." It's soft. Honest. And she believes him.

"I'm not ready yet either. But we need to talk about this. Because the only way we might be ready one day, is if _we _are ready."

"I know." And it's soft. Honest. And he believes her too.

She snuggles next to him. Getting lost in him. "I was thinking of that Sunday. This morning, I was thinking of that Sunday… the last one." And he whispers, "Me too." Softly, barely. "She _was_ very advanced for her age." And she laughs. Quietly. But, it's still her laugh. Still the sound of love. And he smiles, holding on to her a little bit tighter. Because he thinks that maybe, that way she'll feel. And she does. The love.


	5. The Birthday

She's gone. She has to be. It's D-day. So she would have left this morning. She would have gone to the pool. She's swimming right this second. She's swimming, to stop herself from drowning. She has to be. Yet he's sure he can hear her breathing next to him, feel her lying next to him.

She wants to be gone. She wants to be. It's D-day. She wanted to leave this morning. She wanted to go to the pool. She wants to be swimming right now. She wants to be swimming, to stop herself from drowning. She wants to be. Yet she's in bed, lying next to him, breathing next to him. And he's looking at her concerned, surprised, greeting her with a quiet Hi, a small smile, and open arms. And she snuggles into him, letting him hold her, letting him pull her to the surface. And she's right where she wants to be.

They don't talk about it. They've been doing well, they've been trying hard, they've been moving on. Not talking about it is moving on, it's letting the other one breathe, it's not making them see what couldn't be. So the morning is quiet, filled with fleeting smiles, that never quite reach their eyes; and stolen touches that send chills down their spines. But no talking. No, no talking. Silence speaks volumes instead.

The sun is setting; the day almost gone. Almost done. Almost time to move on. They're walking home, hand in hand, to stop the other one from slipping away. And then someone is stopping them in Times Square, asking for a picture with Mr President. It's her birthday today, and he hears nothing after that. No, they're shoving the baby in his arms, and camera in hers, and they're taking a picture on _her_ first birthday. She would have been one, but she's not. And she should be with them, but she's not. And they're taking a picture, but _they_'re not. The little girl in his arms is touching his face, and he pecks the palm of her hand as he gives her back, and they're walking away. Moving away, back from square one.

The city lights are flashing, zooming and passing. The hassle, the noise drowning out their thoughts. Is this what moving on feels like? A black hole, they're powerless against. Their throats filled with ash, they're burned by their was-perfect life. They're racing through the streets, running, but seemingly still. She would have been one today. Would she know how to smile? Would she be able to walk? To run? Would she giggle when they tickled her? Would she be scared, or love flying through the air? Would she snore, or sleep quietly? What would she dream of? What would they dream of, if not of the life they lost?

They're finally home, they stumble in. It's land, it's safe-haven, a place to breathe, to heal. And she's ripping his clothes off. Shedding the shirt, and kissing his neck. And her hands are on his belt. And – "Are you sure?", and a kiss as a reply doesn't ease the concern in his eyes.

"I just… I can't think. Make me not think. Make this go away. Make the pain go away." And with that, he's done thinking. _They_'re done thinking. The clothes are falling to the floor, together with unspoken dreams. They're breaking free.

His fingers bruising her hips. Her nails digging into his back. It hurts, but it's taking the pain away. Not hurting, healing each other instead. They're one. A bundle of tangled limbs; sweat; the sync of heavy breaths. And that night, for the first time they don't dream of the life they've lost. No, they dream of clarity and possibility; of their fingers intertwined and unblinking eyes staring across the proverbial edge; of love, not pain.

In the morning they don't talk about it. Not because they can't, but because they don't need to. Because the smiles are reaching they eyes, and the touches last. So they don't talk. No talking. They let silence speak volumes instead.


	6. The Road-Trips

**The tiara bit is a nod to Grey's, but it was just the cutest thing ever, so I really wanted to include it. And well the significance of "You're all I need to get by" really doesn't need elaboration. Hope you'll like this one. It's a bit longer (a response to one of the reviews), and there's a bit more fluff than usual :) Also, thanks for reviews everyone, I LOVE reading them. **

_"Really, really Fitz? This song is older than I am."_

_"It's timeless. That's the beauty of it."_

_"No, it really isn't." She says it with a smile, a smirk. Teasing. She turns around to get snacks from the back seat, making sure he notices just how skimpy her shorts are. _

_She loves their road-trips. Being in a bubble, in their own little world, with inside jokes, rules and traditions. He always picks music from the last century. She always complains about it, and lets him pick it anyway. She always wears things she knows will drive him insane, but he wouldn't have it any other way. They have their coffee stops, their diners, _their_ places. It's simple, and ordinary, and that's the whole point. They get to have simple, to have ordinary, to have the broad daylight. They get to share a pie, to share a cup of coffee. They get to hold hands; he can kiss her in public, and she can kiss him back. On road-trips they're just them; in their bubble, their little world. _

_"Did you really have to get her half the store? She's turning four, how many toys does she need?"_

_"Shhhhhh. She's our goddaughter, we get to spoil her. We get to have fun with her. We get to drive Cy mad!"_

_"We're here." He declares somewhat ceremoniously. _

_"We can't leave the car now. This is the first song on this entire playlist that I love. So we're gonna sit here and dance it out."_

_"You can't be serious."_

_"Oh, but I am." And there it is, the road-trip smirk again. And she's lifting her arms above hear head, slowly swaying them, opening her mouth to the words of the song. And he's just looking at her. Enchanted. Sitting in a car, in front of their favorite pie place, just off I-95, watching her dance to _You're all I need to get by_ he finally gets the courage to tell her, he wants it. He wants her. He wants a family. He wants a baby. And just how much scares him. _

Her voice breaks his train of thought, memories fading back, reality flooding in.

"We're fine, Cy."

"How fine? Because last time you said you were fine it was like Arctic circle in the room with the two of you. So are you _actually _fine now, or are penguins going to freeze when you come in?"

"I wasn't aware you were having penguins over as well."

"Do _not _try to be cute with me Olivia. I love you. Both of you. And I know you've been to hell and back. Multiple times. I get it. I understand. But it's her sixth birthday and you know how James gets about these things. It all has to be perfect, color-matched, and the little cups have to match the little napkins, and princess this and tiara that, and it's a freaking circus, it's _his_ circus, and I am _this_ close to losing it, and snapping the little dolls' heads off. And if you two show up, with another cloud of pent up emotions, angsty-teary stares and heavy breathing, I _will_ lose it, and the little dolls will not see the end of the party, which will make my husband lose it, so none of us will get to see the end of the party. So I will ask again, are you _really _fine, or are penguins going to freeze?"

"We're fine, Cy. Really. We. Are. Fine."

"You better be!"

"Alright. I'll see you on Friday then. And just one more thing?"

"What?"

"Should we bring any food for the penguins?"

And with that the line went dead and she chuckled, turning her head slightly to look at the man standing behind her, breathing her in.

"So we're fine, huh?" He says with a smirk, leaning in to kiss her neck.

She just nods her head silently, unable to form words. The hand sliding under her shirt making it impossible to focus. She had forgotten how good this felt, how good he felt. But then her phone rings again, the outside world calling the Fixer. He groans, she laughs, but doesn't step away. No, she wants another minute. A minute to just stand there, breathing in sync.

Twenty minutes later, she's gathering her clothes, scattered on the floor.

"I'll get the gifts today after work. And do you want me to book a rental, or can you do it?"

"Oh, I thought we'd just fly there, like last year. I'll get us tickets." There's an air of finality in his voice and she doesn't argue, she doesn't question. It's a battle she could win, but she's not sure she wants to fight. And a nod, an OK and a kiss later, she's out the door.

* * *

"So you two _really _are fine."

"Always the tone of surprise, Cy."

They were standing in the kitchen, drinking wine, catching up. She's missed him, she's missed talking to him, but more than anything she's missed the comfortable silence, his presence that just let her be.

"Do you want it? That, again?"

She realized he was now focused on the same scene that had taken up her attention. Fitz was sitting down with Ella, her friends and their dolls at the kids' table, wearing a boa and a tiara, and drinking "tea" from a sparkly cup. She looked down, her finger circling the rim of the wine glass. She looked down, because looking at him, at them, at the perfect scene was too much. It was too hard, and too painful, and too perfect, so very perfect. And that perfection, it scared her. The way it let her imagination run wild, the way it let her get lost in dreams for a moment, the way it made _it _seem possible, attainable for them, it scared her.

"I don't know. It's too soon. We've just gotten back on our feet. I mean a few months ago we were barely speaking, and now we're fine, but there's still, we're still… We're still flying everywhere. It's too soon." And with that he let it go. Left her alone. To wonder – did she want _it_?

* * *

"Passengers on the flight 4170 to New York, please proceed to gate 9."

He folded his papers, slowly getting up, and turned to leave, before realizing she was still sitting down, lost in thought.

"Liv, we should go."

She lifted her head up, her eyes still fixed on the floor. When she finally looked at him, there was a glimmer of fear in her eyes, matched by the uncertainty of her voice.

"I want us to drive back."

"But we already have the tickets. We are booked on this flight. The flight that is leaving in 45 minutes."

"I want us to drive back."

"Can we not do this now? Whatever this is."

"It's me trying to get you to stop being afraid."

"Afraid of what? What do you think, I'm afraid of, cars? Big, bad cars." He was on the defensive, and she knew it. She had struck a cord, and he knew it.

"No you're not. But you are afraid of driving. You've been afraid of driving since the accident. You have flown everywhere for the past year and a half and you hate flying. You've hated flying even before you spent your campaign flying around the country, and the next four years flying around the world. You hate flying, yet you've been flying everywhere."

"I didn't think you'd…"

"What? Notice?"

"No… dare… get in a car with me again." And his voice cracks. He's never said it. He's never thought it, not really. He held it at bay, his survival instinct kicking in every time his mind would even wonder in that direction, every time the thought would start creeping in.

And she's in front of him. Hugging him. Kissing his tears away. Whispering – "It wasn't your fault. It was never your fault." like a prayer, like a promise, like it's the only truth she's ever known. And they stay that way for a while, still, while the chaos goes on, the world never ceasing. "I'll even let you pick out the radio station. We can spend the _whole_ time listening to the music from the _last_ century. And we can stop by our pie place on the way." She smiles and he chuckles. And with that they're moving, forward, away from the proverbial "fine" into the open road ahead, while _You're all I need to get by_ is blasting from the radio. And she knows, she does want _it_. She wants him. She wants a family. She wants another baby. And just how much scares her.


	7. The Breaking Point

_She's lying on the exam table, shivering, not because the thin material of the hospital gown is barely covering her body, but because she's nervous, she's terrified. He's holding her hand, drawing soothing circles at the back of it with his thumb. "It's going to be OK." And he seals the promise with a kiss._

_The doctor is saying things, but she's not hearing it, no the only thing she hears is the heartbeat. The sound to set their hearts to. And they're both beaming at each other. This is theirs, it's them; it's a new world. _

_"So it's a she?" And she's looking at Fitz, who's grinning at the doctor. She must have slipped up and said it, unaware they didn't know. She didn't hear. No the heartbeat is drowning everything out. Everything but him. "It's a girl." And his voice trembles, because it's what he's wanted, it's what he's always wanted. _

"Earth to Liv. Liv!"

"Sorry, did you say something."

He drops his fork and moves his hand to the middle of the table, towards hers. Her fingers are lacing his, and he's drawing little circles with his thumb on the back of her hand. Soothing, reassuring.

"You've been on a different planet since we came back from Washington. I'm trying to give you space, I'm trying to let you process whatever you're processing, but I need you to let me in. I want in. We're in this together, remember?"

She looks at her plate, the stake she barely touched, and plays with her peas for a moment. "I was thinking." – _still_ not looking at him – "And I'd like us to try." – _still_ not looking at him. – "Again. For a baby, I mean." – She slowly lifts her gaze. Afraid. Terrified. What if he's not ready yet? What if he's changed his mind? What if he's… smiling? He's smiling. Grinning. Ear-to-ear.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." She nods, with a weak smile. She was ready to explain. She was ready to make her case. She was ready for an argument. She wasn't ready for this. He's on his knees, wrapping his hand around her neck, pulling her in for a kiss, inching the other one up her thigh. Her mind is a blur, words floating around, incoherent patterns. "Fitz…"

"No talking."

"Fitz…"

He groans disapprovingly, making he chuckle. "I'm not ovulating. We can't start trying _right _now." He finally looks up at her, a playful smirk on his face, "But we can start practicing."

And with that they're done talking.

* * *

"Hi."

"Hi." He gives her a small smile, leaning in the doorway. She's snuggled on the couch, a glass of wine in hand, the bottle not far away.

"So you're not?"

"Nope." She doesn't look at him, but he can see a glistening path the lone tear is leaving behind and it breaks his heart.

"Liv, it's only been four months. These things take time."

"Last time…" Her voice is shaking, breaking, and so is she. And he cuts her off, he can't do this again. They can't do this again.

"God, no; Liv, no! You, can't… You need to stop thinking about the last time. You need to, you have to stop. This is now. We are trying. And we will keep trying. And we will get it right" And with that he is in front of her, on his knees again. Wrapping his arms around his waist, his head in her lap. "I love you. In all your overachiever-glory, but I need you to believe me that this will take time, but we will get it right. We just need time. You just have to give us time. Give yourself time. "

And her fingers are travelling through his hair, down the back of his neck, brushing against his jawline, until she finally lifts his face up. "Ok." And she's leaning down and kissing him. Slowly, softly, but then there's desperation in it, urgency. She needs to know he's still in this. She needs to know she's not failing him. She needs to know, but she won't ask, no that's not what she does. So she's kissing him instead and he understands. And that one kiss is both a promise and a reassurance; a pledge and a prayer; desperation and a dream. That kiss is everything.

* * *

She is sitting on the bathroom floor, surrounded by eight pregnancy tests.

"Livvie…"

She looks up, her eyes red and puffy, tears yet to be shed reflecting the bathroom lights.

"I peed on eight sticks. Eight. The one this morning had a little minus sign on it. And I thought just for a split second, maybe it was wrong. And then somehow that thought, that, it snowballed into a conviction, into truth. And I was in the pharmacy buying seven other tests. I would have bought more, I would have, but they didn't have any. I drank five bottles of water. Five bottles. And I don't even remember drinking them. I… I kept thinking maybe the next one. I kept thinking, maybe. And after a while, I just wasn't thinking anymore. I wasn't thinking, I was just, I was… trying to will them into submission, trying to get me…" and her voice trails off. No she can't say a word "baby" anymore. It's lost all meaning. It's no longer the epitome of their love, their happiness; no longer a little Liv, with grey eyes, or a little Fitz with dark curls. No, now it's the doctors' appointments, hormone shots; schedules, and calendars. It's not spontaneous touches, and small kisses; it's not hungry, desperate, or all-consuming; no, it's technical, mechanical. It's not them. It's not love, or romance; it's not the dream; it's a nightmare and she can't seem to wake up.

"Maybe we should stop. Or take a break. It's been a eight months. Maybe…"

"No." And she's standing up. Wiping away the tears, willing them away, willing them into submission. The walls are up, and he's out; she's pulling away again. "No. I'll be fine. I just, it's been a long day. I'll schedule us an appointment for IVF tomorrow." It's not a question. It's a statement. For her, as much as for him. And with that she's walking away, leaving him alone with eight sticks. _They_'re losing faith, but _he_'s losing her as well. And that, that he can't take. Not again.

* * *

She's lying on the exam table, shivering, not because the thin material of the hospital gown is barely covering her body, but because she's nervous, she's terrified. He's holding her hand, drawing soothing circles at the back of it with his thumb. "It's going to be OK." But it's no longer a promise, it's a statement. For him, as much as for her.

The doctor is saying things, but she's not hearing it, no the only thing she hears is silence. The silence to set their hearts to. And they're not looking at each other. This is theirs, it's them; it's a new world.

"Maybe it's time to stop. This has been your fourth treatment. Your body can't take much more for much longer." And she's looking at the doctor, but she's not seeing him, no instead she's seeing the empty screen. And she can't hear what Fitz is saying. No, the silence is drowning him out.

They're walking home. Next to each other, steps in sync, but not together. They've retreated to their corners of the ring. Getting ready for another fight, or getting ready to give up? And she finally speaks, her tone empty, defeated, "I think we should take a break." And he knows she's not talking about the treatments anymore. It's what he feared, it's what he's always feared. They're no longer in this together.

He moves out in a week.

Two years of trying to create a new life, finally broke the one they had.

* * *

**A/N: OK, I know some of you might be upset about this. And it was emotionally exhausting for me to write. But I had to break them up completely, before I could start building them back up. In the past chapters, they kept going in circles a lot, trying to move on, but they really did need to reach a breaking point. Anyway, I hope you'll stick for the ride. And honestly thank you so much for your reviews and feedback, it means the world to me, and really inspires me :)**


	8. The End of the Beginning

_"Do you think the neighbors heard us?"_

_"Well I'm pretty sure they heard you." He says teasingly, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her in, closer, never close enough. Her head is on his bare chest, and she can hear his heartbeat slowing down, steadying. He's drawing small circles at the small of her back, his hand starting to move slower, move lower. And she wiggles out of his embrace, laughing at his shocked, offended face. _

_"I'm hungry. And we should get going. We have to move the rest of the stuff in tomorrow."_

_"But why can't I just have _my snack_ now." And the mix of the pout, the smirk that's reaching his eyes, and the baritone almost changes her mind, but then her stomach is making a noise, a remainder of why she left their little cocoon in the first place. _

_"I can do you one better." She says with a smile, biting her lower lip lightly, while lazily playing with a button of his shirt, driving him crazy. It's too big, yet somehow it fits her perfectly. "How about we order in, and then stay the night here. In our place. The first night in our place." _

_"I like the way you're thinking Mrs. Grant." And he's getting up, looking at her, undressing her with his eyes. _

_"Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no. I am keeping my name. I am still me. Nothing's changed."_

_"But of course it has." And with that he's chasing her, over the boxes of their stuff, boxes filled with memories, with moments; carrying her over the foundations that they'll build their lives on. He twirls her around, kissing her neck, and she's laughing. Carefree, free. _

She's awake, but lost in the memories, lost in moments, trying to pinpoint the minute it all went wrong. And she always comes back to this. Not the crash, not the three and a half years after it, not that last doctor's appointment, or the moment he stood in the doorway, looking at her, pleading to ask him to stay; no, it was the moment she decided that nothing's going to change, that she would stay Olivia Pope, never making room for anything, or anyone else. Not even him.

There were moments of course, like the one on their first night in _their _apartment, when he would find a crack in the armor, when her defenses would go down and she'd let him in. But that's all they were, moments, stolen glimpses of Liv if he could get through Olivia.

She misses him. In her bed. In _their_ bed. The place looks empty without his things, it looks foreign, hostile, not like home. She misses talking to him. She misses seeing his head on the pillow next to hers, hearing his breathing in the morning; the smell of his cologne mixed with the sweat on their sheets. She misses his smile and the way he could make her feel safe, the way he wanted to make her feel safe. She misses his love. She misses him. All of him. Because he gave all of him to her. He was all in. And she wants him back. She can change, but more importantly she wants to change. She wants to let him in, to tell him things. She wants him there, all the time, in her space, because his absence is like absence of air; life without is an impossibility.

She gets up, and breathes in, the air not quite reaching her lungs and she starts getting ready for the wedding.

* * *

_"I like the way you're thinking Mrs. Grant." And he's getting up, looking at her, undressing her with his eyes._

_"Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no. I am keeping my name. I am still me. Nothing's changed."_

_"But of course it has." And with that he's chasing her, over the boxes of their stuff, boxes filled with memories, with moments; carrying her over the foundations that they'll build their lives on. He twirls her around, kissing her neck, and she's laughing. Carefree, free._

_And his shirt is back on the floor, and they're falling down as well, but no, they're floating instead. Everything disappears and it's just them. They're a bundle, again one, drifting to sleep, and he whispers in her ear, "I don't know what I'd do without you." And she pretends she's asleep, but he can feel her tense up, and he knows in that moment – she's gone. _

He's awake, but lost in the memories, lost in moments, trying to pinpoint the minute it all went wrong. And he always comes back to this, not the crash, not the three and a half years after it, not that last doctor's appointment, or the moment he stood in the doorway, looking at her, pleading to ask him to stay; no, it was the moment he decided to push her to change; to push her to become the person who takes care of him, the person he clings on to, to become Mrs. Grant. She was a fixer, but not with him, with him she was Liv. There were moments of course, like the one on their first night in _their _apartment, when she would disappear behind her armor, when her defenses would go up and she'd block him out. But that's all they were, moments, stolen glimpses of Olivia, when he couldn't get through to Liv.

But every time he'd push, every time he'd project his insecurities onto her, every time he'd cling to her like she was his saving grace, he'd make her fade into the background, the fixer taking her place. Every time he'd expect, let, her fix, instead of fixing it together, Liv, his Liv would disappear further down the rabbit hole, until eventually he couldn't remember if it was all real, or a dream – or maybe something in between.

He misses her. In this bed. In _their_ bed. This place is empty without her; it is foreign, hostile, not like home. He misses talking to her. He misses seeing her head on the pillow next to his, hearing her breathing in the morning; the smell of her perfume mixed with the sweat on their sheets. He misses her smile and the way she could make him feel safe, the way she wanted to make him feel safe. He misses her love. He misses her. All of her. Because she gave all of her to him. She was all in and he made her change. And he wants her back. He can change, but more importantly he wants to change. He wants to let her be, to let her need him. He wants her there, all the time, in his space, because her absence is like absence of air; life without is an impossibility.

He gets up, and breathes in, the air not quite reaching his lungs and he starts getting ready for the wedding.

* * *

He doesn't want to be there, but he is, because of his kids, and although he doesn't want to admit it, because of her. He needs to see her, even if it's just across the room. He needs to breathe in the same air as her, because somehow she makes breathing easy. He needs her. And then he sees her, looking at him from across the garden, and their eyes lock, and it's a storm, a battle, whirlwind of emotions boiling to the surface. And then he can see her pulling away, he can see her disappearing, the brightness of her eyes being replaced by determination. And she's walking away, and he's letting her. Because it's not fair, not anymore, to ask her to stay; to fight a losing battle for a losing man. She deserves better, she deserves everything. And he helps Teddy out with his bow-tie, but he can feel his choking him; he needs a drink.

She sees him standing at the far corner of the garden, talking to the flower girl and Teddy. She always loved seeing him in a tux, but today, today it takes her breath away. He looks up, and for the first time in two weeks their eyes lock, and it's a storm, a battle, whirlwind of emotions boiling to the surface. One look into his eyes and she's coming undone at the seams, she's gone again. No, she can't do this. She can't survive this again. Not this love, not this man. She's lost too many battles, she's been broken too many times to heal; she's damaged goods. And he deserves better, he deserves everything. He loves her too much to walk away, so she has to do it, for him, for them. So she goes into the kitchen, and makes the phone-call she's been avoiding for the past five days, "I'll take the job." It's so simple, and final; a clear-cut, except nothing with them is clear, and can they ever really make the final cut?

"What job?" And she's frozen in spot. It's his voice, the voice she's been hearing in her dreams, the voice she keeps replaying on their answering machine. Her mind is blank, and she's trying to think, to come up with an answer that wouldn't hurt him, that wouldn't break him, but she knows there's no way out of this. She knows they're not coming out alive.

"I'll be handling press for our embassies in Europe. It's a great opportunity." And she can hear the justificatory tone in her voice, she can hear the lack of her own conviction, and she knows he can too. She expects an attack; anger; guilt; she expects him to stop her. But he doesn't.

"It is a great opportunity. Congratulations." And he can hear the brokenness of his own voice, the lack of his own conviction, and he knows she can too.

He moves towards her, slowly, giving her time to step away, but she doesn't, she stays still, perfectly still. And they stand there, in the kitchen, soaking each other in, just breathing for the first time in weeks.

And then they head out to the wedding, to witness the beginning, while the realization that they've reached the end sinks in.

But it never does.


	9. The Damaged One

**So, I wasn't going to update this until tomorrow, but I felt like I couldn't just leave Liv hanging after the last chapter, I thought you guys deserved an explanation (of sorts). I hope this will shed some light on why she's acting the way she is, and I think for her, this was what she needed to do (and understand). I love your reviews, so keep them coming :)**

_The beeping is making her head hurt. It echoes in her mind. And the lights are too bright, she can't open her eyes. And she can't move, no, it hurts. She can't speak, her voice is too weak. And she doesn't know why. She remembers driving, she remembers snow, how beautiful, peaceful and calm, almost magical it was. She remembers his eyes, but then they got so bright, he was swallowed by the light. And then - it's all dark. She's trying, trying so hard to move her lids apart, trying to get her lashes to let some of the light in, slowly, she's trying to adjust. But it's too bright, and she flinches, and makes a noise. And the light fades, she's finally in the shade, and she slowly looks up. He's standing next to her, his hand shielding her eyes, but she can't see his, no they're too dark._

_"Can we please have a doctor in here." He's yelling, but it doesn't sound like his voice. No it sounds like a voice of a broken man. _

_"Livvy, don't try to talk. You've been intubated. Just try and stay calm for me." And now he's leaning down, her face next to hers, and he's touching her hair, and then he looks away. "We were in an accident, Livvy. We... We were hit by a truck. It was... The road was frozen, and it came out of nowhere. It... it hit your side." And his voice trails away, and she squeezes his hand. She needs him to look at her again, because she thinks she knows what he's saying, but she's a glass-half empty kind of person, so what she thinks it means, no it can't be. She needs him to look at her again, because she thinks she's seen the brokenness in his eyes, but what she thinks it means, no it can't be. And she needs him to speak, because she thinks she's heard the defeat in his voice, but no it can't be. And she squeezes again, and then it's all in one. He's saying he's sorry, and it's not defeat, it's loss that she hears; and she was right, the light is gone from his eyes. And she can't move, and she can't speak, and she can't breathe. All she's got are silent tears. And she can't look at him, because he, he the image of how she feels. She retreats. _

She can't sleep. She's been tossing and turning for hours and finally she gives up, gets up and walks over to the window. It's snowing. The first snow of the season. It's beautiful, peaceful and calm, almost magical. It makes her think of Him, but then so does everything. And the room's too small and too big; not yet home, it will never be; she needs air; she needs to think.

It's become a habit, a routine, her midnight-to-dawn walks. She steps outside, the crisp winter air instantly clearing her head. She can see her breath, evaporating, disappearing into the night, floating away. And again, it makes her think of Him.

She's walking along the bank, just like every night for the last three months. She's been replaying her life in her head; trying to figure out how she got here; trying to get to know herself again; trying to understand why she keeps pushing him away, when all she wants is to let him in, let him close, and never let go. She always felt like damaged goods, like she should be alone. She had nothing to offer; she wasn't normal; she couldn't be normal, _do _normal. But then he came, and changed her world, changed _her_. Alone no longer felt right, no, he was right, he was her other half, he made her whole. She did have something to give, to him, she finally had something to offer. She could make him happy, and it made her so very happy, so infinitely happy. For the first time in her life she was happy. And most of all, he loved her, he loved her _because_ she wasn't normal, he loved _her_. He made her feel like her damage was a strength, not a weakness, he loved her despite it, in spite it, for it. He loved her. And for a while, it was enough. It was enough until that night, until she woke up in the hospital, to an image of a broken man. It was enough, until she failed him. She lost their baby, and it broke him, and that broke her. That night in the hospital room, she retreated, she was defeated. She was damaged goods and she had damaged him too.

She's watching the sunrise, the trees glistering as the weak sun lights up the fresh snow; the pink sky the perfect background for the sleepy city. She smiles to herself, because she finally understands. It took moving away, months apart, countless sleepless nights and midnight-to-dawn walks, to finally understand. It wasn't her fault. And he told her, but she couldn't hear; he forgave but she couldn't believe; she couldn't believe that he could still love her, still care; she couldn't believe that he didn't want to walk away. And that, that was her damage. Somewhere along the line, at some point in her life she started to believe those who said she wasn't enough. And she couldn't pinpoint the moment, no matter how hard she tried, because that type of damage, the type that doesn't just break you, but makes it impossible to heal; that type of damage doesn't happen in a moment. It wasn't the moment her mother died, or the moment her father walked away; it wasn't the moment she was kicked out of her first foster home, or the moment she left the last; it was a life, a life in which she was constantly never good enough. And in her mind, she failed the first person who ever told her otherwise. In her mind, she was never good enough, so she kept giving him outs, reasons to walk away; never realizing all he wanted was for her to stay. But now that she understands she can go back, she can be the Liv that he sees, the Liv that she can finally see; _they can finally be_.

So she picks up her phone. It's late, she knows, but she can't wait. And she calls the number in her phone; the one saved under Home. And it's ringing, long, too long, she'll try again; but then – it's his voice.

"Hello."

"Hi." And her voice is calm, because he's there, he picked up, he still cares.

"Hi."

And they're quiet for a while, just breathing. But there's something off, she can feel it; his breathing has changed; their sync no longer the same.

"Liv…"

"I miss you." And she feels free. She's breaking out. She's breaking free.

"_Hey babe, you coming back to bed?_"

And with that, she's breaking to pieces.


	10. The Scotch Diaries

He's standing at the bar, ordering another glass of scotch. The bartender already knows him, or at least knows his order, and knows to keep them coming. And she's walking towards him, that look in her eyes again; like he's prey, a trophy she has to have. And he can swear he hears the bartender mumble – "Here we go again." She's pretty enough, but he doesn't care, he has no interest in her. Because every time his phone rings he still hopes it's Her, even if She is halfway across the globe, even though it's been three months, even if She has left him and even though he let Her. So, no he has no interest in the leggy blonde approaching him.

An hour and four drinks later, she seems more interesting (or at least vaguely so); she seems prettier and funnier, and he no longer feels the need to flinch every time she touches him. So he utters the words he'll regret the moment they're out, he asks the unspeakable, not because it's a betrayal of Her, but because it's a betrayal of Him too – "I'm heading home. Want to continue this there?" And he prays she'll say no, he wants her to give him an out, to give him a chance to walk away, but she nods (it's meant to be seductive, but she looks like she's having a neck spasm) and with that they step out in the cold New York night.

It's all a blur. His apartment smells foreign; the artificial freshness smells dirty, smells like betrayal. He's taking off her clothes. Ripping them off, before he changes his mind. He needs this. He doesn't look at her. No, he looks at the ceiling. It all feels wrong. So wrong. He doesn't want her to stay, but he can't make her leave. A foreign body next to his, foreign breaths, the rhythm mismatched to his.

And he can hear his phone. Maybe it's Her. He hopes, again; the never-wavering hope. He picks it up from the floor, and it's a number he doesn't know, a number from across the globe. So answers her with a weak smile and a, "Hello."

"Hi." And her voice is calm. She's there, she called, she still cares.

"Hi." He barely gets it out; it feels wrong; like a lie. Should he tell her? He has to try.

"Liv…"

"I miss you." And he's stunned. She sounds happy, free. She sounds like Liv.

And then – "Hey babe, you coming back to bed?" And he's frozen. He can hear her gasp; he can hear her break. And he needs to explain, but the line dies and she's gone.

And he's grabbing his stuff, and he's out the door; but not before, "I'm sorry. I have to go. It's… important."

* * *

Olivia Pope doesn't drink. No, that's not right. Olivia Pope does drink, but Olivia Pope doesn't get drunk. Olivia Pope is a fixer, a control-freak, always in charge, on top, in line. Olivia Pope doesn't stumble, or fall; she doesn't let loose, she doesn't let go. But Liv, Liv, his Liv; no, no longer his; just Liv, she is going to drink until it no longer hurts. She can't fix this, it's out of control, she's no longer in charge, on top, or in line. She stumbled and he fell; so she's letting loose, because she can't let go. Liv just lost the love of her life; he's moved on, and that – that warrants drinking. So she's wandering the streets of Paris, at 6 am, looking for a place to buy scotch. She hates scotch, but today she doesn't. Today, she'll hate him instead.

And the liquid is burning her insides, and she relishes the feeling; the feeling of pain disappearing; of liquor taking it away. And she's pacing herself, she's got a long day ahead.

* * *

And as the Sun is setting down there's a knock on the door. And she stumbles towards it, no longer feeling her own two feet, no longer feeling anything. She opens it, and he's there. A shadow of a man, looking at a broken girl asking her to let him in.

"What are you doing here?"

"I needed to explain."

"No, you really don't. I shouldn't have called. I left. I… shouldn't have called. It's not fair to you and it's not fair to her. I'm sorry. I'm fine. We're fine. Don't worry."

"She's not… she's not a factor Liv. She doesn't… matter." And she scoffs. He can hear the hurt, the pain and he hates himself for doing this to her. He has to fix this. She made the first step, he has to make the last one.

"Do you still love me? Do you? Still love me?"

"Does it matter?"

"It matters. Do you still love me is a yes or no question... Olivia?"

"I do...but" But he's kissing her and she's kissing him back. Everything is shifting back into focus; he's pulling her in, he's her gravity. And he's closing the door behind him, shutting everything out. She's taking her clothes off in between kisses, no longer stumbling and she's reaching for his belt, but he stops her, gently pulling away. "You're drunk. We shouldn't do this now. You should think about this"

"I am thinking about this. I have been thinking about this for the past three months. I've been thinking and I'm done thinking. I'm done running, and hiding, and I'm done shutting you out. I'm done not feeling like I'm enough and I'm done not being enough. I'm done feeling like a perpetual failure all the time, and I'm done pushing you away. I, just, I'm done. I'm done and I'm sorry. And I don't want to talk about it anymore. And that's not me shutting you out, or me being drunk, that's me being me. And I need you to love me for it."

"You are not _enough_ Liv. You are _more_ than enough. You are _everything_."

And for the first time in her life she believes him. She believes it.

* * *

**Hope you Lovelies enjoyed that. Thanks for the reviews, I love reading them and seeing what you think will happen. It's such a great incentive to keep these coming. **

**Now, the reason I didn't want Liv to get stuck on the girl, and have it change everything was that I felt it would go against her growth in the last chapter, and the realization that Fitz is what she wants. And the one thing that's been clear (hopefully) is that they both know the other loves them, and they don't doubt that - it's just that they have so much baggage. So this one was all about her sticking to her guns, which is coincidentally also what I LOVED about the last episode :) And I just LOVE that hospital scene, which is why those lines ended up here. X**


	11. The Calm Before the Storm

The morning sun is finally reaching his side of the bed, and he shuffles a bit and scrunches up his lids. It's juvenile, and charming and reminds her of how much she loves watching him sleep. She loves mornings with him. Mostly because it was the one thing they couldn't have in the beginning. They had moments in hallways; and glances across the room; touches in passing; and nights, desperate and hurried, always too short, always leaving them wanting more, always leaving them with a promise, a hope, that one day – they will have mornings; that one day, they won't end with the crack of dawn.

Last night is a blur. She's trying to sort out through her emotions, trying to straighten out her thoughts. She's trying to analyze, to organize, compartmentalize. But she can't. Because every single thought in her head keeps ending up in the same place – she loves him; it's as simple as that. The hurt disappears as she watches him sleep; his every breath taking her doubts away; the steady rhythm of his heart under her cheek puts her mind, her body at ease.

"You're thinking." He's smiling at her, but it's not quite right, not quite alive, there's worry in his eyes.

"Hey, sleepyhead. I am."

"What about?"

"Us. This."

"Liv…" And it's a thousand questions in one word, in one name, a thousand questions to her, a thousand pleas.

"Hey, hey… It's OK. I'm OK. We're OK. I love you. And I missed you. And none of the other stuff matters. We're OK." And she's kissing his shoulder softly, while drawing little circles on his chest, trying to calm him down, trying to get her actions to speak as loudly as her words, hoping one will be heard.

"I'm sorry. About the girl."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Liv…" And it's a plea again, and she knows that voice – he's trying to keep her there, to stop her from pulling away.

"Hey. It's OK." She's trying again. "I'm not bolting. I'm not shutting you out, my shield's not coming up. I just don't want to talk about it, because I don't think there's anything to talk about. I left. I bolted. I ran. I screwed up. And you had a one-night stand. So, we really don't need to talk about it."

And he's looking at her quizzically. "How did you…?" And she cuts him off, she knows what he's asking, she's smiling.

"Oh, come on. She called you "babe". There's no way in hell you were seeing her." And she's laughing now. And he looks half-amused, half-terrified, maybe she's lost her mind. "I really should have figured it out straight away, but it took some drinking to get there. So, no talking. I love you _babe_." And with that she's laughing again, she can't stop, she can't not. It's a sound he's missed, it's the sound of his dreams; and he's smiling and pulling her in. And in an instant the atmosphere shifts. She's looking up at him, her eyes no longer playful, no longer light; the laughs replaced by hurried breaths; her hands no longer holding her face, no they're holding his instead. And their lips are hovering, barely apart, they're battling, which one will be the first to give in? And she caves, it's not a loss, it's a win; she's taking one for the team; and they're kissing, and she's biting him, marking him; letting him in. And the rest of the morning slips away, in a blink, in a sigh, in a gasp. They meet the afternoon intertwined.

And they're out, in the world, and still OK; she still loves him and he's still there. She's showing him her favorite coffee place, sharing her life, it's a race; race against time, race to catch up, to make the last three months count.

"I don't want you to leave."

"I know."

"Don't leave." And she's snuggling up to him. Her head in the crook of his neck. Her eyelashes fluttering against his skin – it's a butterfly kiss.

"OK."

"You have to leave."

"Yes I do. But, I'll stay if you want me to. I'll stay for you."

"I want you to. No. Crap. I, we can't. This is crazy. You have to go back. You have a job, and a life, and my contract is almost up."

And he smiles. She's mentally pacing, her mind is racing. It's juvenile and charming and reminds him of how much he loves her.

"Livvy…" And his voice has that tone; the one that makes her weak at the knees; the one that makes her brain freeze. "I'll go back. And you'll stay here for another three months. We'll travel back and forth. We'll talk on the phone. Hell, we'll do all kinds of things over the phone, and it will go by in no time."

"Uh-huh. You just want this because of phone sex. You've been trying to get me to do it for years, and you finally got your chance. I can see right through you Mr. Grant."

"Hey, can't blame me for trying; for trying to fill the void, the abyss, that your absence will create, by finding this one, little, tiny, minor, silver lining." And she can see his smirk, without even looking up. And he can see her smile, without even looking down. They're no longer looking with their eyes; they can finally see into the other's heart.

* * *

**Hey Lovelies, so this is not the end. I've had a direction for this story since pretty early on - so to reiterate the title of the chapter, this is just a bit of calm before the storm. Anyone who's read _I Love You Too_ knows I like to explore the heart-wrenching and tap into those emotions. Hope you'll stick for the ride ahead. And thanks again for the reviews, you guys are amazing!**


	12. The Little Sign

"I'm going to miss this place."

"Really?" He's quirking his eyebrows, questioning.

"Well it was our first home together. And it's a great apartment. And we had some good days here. And some fun nights." She slightly turns her head to him, just enough for him to see her smirk.

"Oh, I can think of a few more fun things we could do right now. The first time was amongst the boxes, so we could, you know, replicate." And he's walking over to her, pulling her in, his chest perfectly molding to her back; and that smell, her smell, intoxication, his personal brand of heroin.

"We need to finish packing first." And she's trying to sound firm, but her resolve is disappearing as his hand starts creeping under her shirt. But then her eyes fall on a little box she was about to pack away with the rest of bathroom supplies, and it sends her mind into overdrive. She's counting and adding, she's trying to track the dates, to remember events. This can't be right. She's tensed up, and he's calling her, concerned.

"Liv, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, I'm sure it's nothing. I'm just…"

"Liv, what is it?" And he follows her line of sight, her eyes still locked on the little box. He sees it and suddenly his mind is running slow, so painfully slow. He's turning her, facing her, looking at her, looking for clues. "Liv are you?"

"I'm late." And with that she's sliding to the floor. She's sinking. She needs to sit down, to feel the coolness of the tiles, to feel the firm ground. And he's right there with her, his back against the tub, his elbows on his knees, he's trying to breathe. "How late?"

"A few weeks. It could be nothing. It's probably nothing. It's the stress. I mean I moved between two continents, and we're moving again and it's just a lot, and it's stress." She's trying. She's trying so hard to sound detached, but they both know better. There's hope in her voice, and even worse it's reaching her eyes, it's overtaking her mind. No, she needs to stop, to rationalize, to control; except all reason is gone, the hope slowly replacing it. And he can see, he can tell she's letting the impossible in, she's resurrecting the dream. He hates to do this to her, but the sooner she can realize it's not a new life, the sooner she can see the minus sign, the less it will hurt. He needs to do this, _for_ her.

"We need to go get a pregnancy test." And his voice is detached. And there's a flash of panic in her eyes. No, she wants a little bit longer, a little more time to believe, to play with the 'what ifs'. "It's fine. We'll pack first."

"You can pack and I'll go get it. Any preference?" He's trying to lighten the mood, but she just shoots him a look, clearly not amused.

He's walking to the pharmacy, not noticing anything. It's raining but he doesn't care, the soft thuds against his skin are actually calming him. His mind is racing. What if she is? No, shut it down. It's stress. Of course it's stress. It's what makes sense. He can't hope, one of them needs to stay strong. He needs to stay grounded, stay in control, catch her when she falls. And he's standing in front of a wall at the pharmacy, no recollection of walking in. Colors and signs, and he's trying to be smart, looking for the one with the shortest waiting time. And then he's on his way back, all long strides, and the fearful eyes giving away the cracks in hiss façade. And the elevator is taking a lifetime to come down, even longer to take him up, higher with every flashing number, yet trying to stay grounded.

"I'm back." And she's still in the bathroom, packing away, surrounded by memories as she puts their life into boxes.

"Hey." And there's a weak smile. She's ready to let go, ready to finally move on.

"Hi."

"Hi." And she takes it from his hand. "I'll be OK. You really don't need to watch me pee." And there's a small peck, before the door's shut, she's in and he's out.

They're sitting on the bathroom floor, backs against the wall. Her head on his shoulder, his arm around her waist, no longer pulling her in, just holding on. She's holding the little stick, her other hand in his, they're intertwined seamlessly.

"It's time."

And she flips it to the side with the little sign.

* * *

**So what do you think it says? Either way they're in for a curveball. I'll try to update the next chapter by tonight. **

**Thanks for the reviews lovelies :)**


	13. The Promise

"So you said you had some bleeding since the last check-up. We'll take a look and see if we can figure out why. Ready?"

And she nods her head again and looks away, she can't stand the wait. He's holding her hand, trying to calm herdown, but really just trying to calm down. And the gel is cold, and then the machine is pressing into it, her abdomen's the playing field.

And then, then there's a sound. The sound to set their hearts to.

And she looks at him, then at the screen, and it's barely there, barely visible. It's a miracle, it's everything, it's the dream, their dream. They're lost in it, in the moment the dream clashed with reality. They're too busy taking it in to notice the doctor trying to see, zooming in pensively. And then the quiet settles in, the doctor looking at them reassuringly. "Why don't you get dressed and we can go over everything in my office." It's not a question, it's an instruction, it's the next step, it's the first step. But they don't know, no, they're oblivious to it all.

And he's getting her clothes, helping her put them on, clumsily, childishly aware of the irony. It's making them both chuckle, making them smile.

They're sitting down, their hands are on her leg, they're talking, planning, living ahead. They don't notice the doctor's come in until she's sitting down, and instantly they can tell, her somber expression is a giveaway. And now, he's squeezing her hand, as if to say, "It _will_ be OK", but all that comes out is, "What's wrong?"

"Liv, you have a condition called Placenta Previa. It means that your placenta is lower than we'd like."

He can see the panic flashing across her face; she doesn't understand; he doesn't understand.

"What does that mean?"

"There is a danger of bleeding during pregnancy, and it will be a high risk delivery."

No, that can't be right. And her knuckles are white, she's holding onto him for dear life.

"What are the risks?" She's trying to sound matter-of-factly, trying to change the answer, alter the truth by the fake calm of her voice, but they both know, they're in for a storm.

"In the best case scenario it could just mean that we will have to take special care during delivery."

"But this is not a best case scenario." It's an admission of defeat, not a plea for hope.

"No, it's not. We will need to do more tests, but it seems likely that you are a grade three or four, which means that there is a risk for severe bleeding. That means in the best-case scenario we will have to deliver by C-section, but there is a risk of pre-term contractions, and pre-term labor." And there's a pause, a pregnant pause ironically, that's not it, there's more, they all know. "That means there is increased danger of fetal and maternal death."

Silence. The clock is ticking away, the sound of passing time.

"What are our options?"

"We do more tests. You take it one day at the time until we know more. It is likely you will have to be on bed rest towards the end of the pregnancy and hopefully, that prevents hemorrhaging. If it does happen, then you will get blood transfusions. We can give the fetus steroids for lung growth, just in case. And we monitor you closely. I mean, Liv, the worst case scenario is unlikely. We will do everything we can to make sure both of you come out of this just fine." And she's giving them a reassuring smile, but they're completely frozen in time. "There is another option, but with your history…"

"No."

"Liv, you might want to consider it, especially since we caught it relatively early. Usually it's not diagnosed until well into the second trimester. Termination is a possibility. You could…"

And she's cutting her off, "What try again? No. This baby is a miracle, so _that_ is not an option."

"Well you can take a few days to think about it." And she's saying it to him, and he knows what that means.

* * *

She hangs her coat on the rack and takes her heels off before sinking onto the couch.

"We need to talk." And he hates himself for it, for being the devil's advocate, and she'll hate him too, but it's worth it – saving her.

"One minute. Just one minute. I just want to pretend for one minute. Please." And it's the please that breaks his hear, the plea and the desperation in her voice, he can't say no. So instead, he sits next to her and she cuddles into him, her arms pulling him in. And his are around her, one squeezing her shoulder,; while the other one hovers above her abdomen. For a minute they can pretend. He kisses her temple, and with that the moment is gone, the pretending done.

"I don't want to terminate."

"I don't _want _you to either. But we could lose the baby anyway."

"It's a remote possibility. This, on the other hand is final. I'm not doing it. I want this baby."

"Liv you could die. Or did you miss that part? You matter, to me, to this baby." And he pauses, he's going in for the punch. It's playing dirty, but it has to be done. "You grew up without a mom Liv, and you know how much it sucked. Can you honestly tell me you'd want that for this baby."

And she's stunned. She didn't think he would, she didn't think he could play that card. She's furious. "You're trying to guilt me into this! And I get it, you're scared, but guess what – I'm scared too. I'm terrified. But this baby, it's you and me. It's us. Your eyes and my lips, and your charm and my stubborn streak. It's you and me. And I can't, I don't want to give that up." And the tears are no longer burning in her eyes, no, now they're rolling down her face, they're in freefall. And she's telling him, she's letting him in. "I'm terrified. I'm terrified I could die and leave you behind. I am terrified, and I need you. I want this baby, and it's the scariest thing in the world, so I need you. I need you to hold my hand, and I need you to tell me it's going to be OK, I need you to lie, and to pretend, because I can't. If I don't do this, it will kill me. I might not die, but it will kill me." And she's sobbing, barely breathing; the breaths shallow and uneven; terrified. She's unraveled before his eyes, she's finally showed him her vulnerable side. No shield, and no walls, she's not pushing him out, she's pulling him in. She needs him and it's the scariest thing.

And he realizes that this is it, the moment she's _completely_ let him in. She needs him, and it's the scariest thing.

"Hey, hey, hey." And he's holding her now, her head firmly pressed against his chest; his heartbeats steadying her breathing. He's drawing circles on her back, and he can feel her calming down; he can feel her coming up, no longer drowning. "It's going to be OK."

And that is a promise.

* * *

**A/N: OK, so it****_ is_**** a storm, but they're in it ****_together._**

**And I honestly can't tell you how much I love reading your reviews - so thanks for that :)**


	14. The Lucky One Pt 1

**So here goes a bit of fluff :) **

**Also, the song I mention - Lucky by Jason Mraz and Colbie Caillat.**

**Week 12**

She's doing his Sunday crossword, while he's playing on his iPad. They're on the couch, his feet up on the coffee table, his arms wrapped around her; she's cuddled next to him. Both are wearing matching NAVY t-shirts, their standard lazy Sunday attire.

"Its fingernails and toenails are starting to develop."

"Really? Already?"

"Yep." And she's smiling, because she loves that he knows that, she loves that he thinks it's important, and interesting and amazing enough to tell her; she's smiling because for the first time since they decided to keep it, he seems as excited as she is; she's smiling because despite everything she can't remember the last time she was this happy, the last time she was this at ease. Everything's going to be OK. She can feel it in her gut. And her gut, well lately it's grown back into its infallible self.

**Week 13**

She's sitting on the kitchen counter with a tub of Ben & Jerry's, and she's singing along to _Lucky_, her voice getting lost in the track; music is swallowing the whole room up.

"Really, Liv?"

"Hey, I'm pregnant I get to have ice cream for breakfast."

"I wasn't commenting on the ice cream. I know better." And he's looking at the speakers, with an unmistakable smirk.

"I love this song and I don't care that you think it's cheesy, or that you think it's girly. It cheers me up." He turns the volume down.

"When's your appointment next week?" And there's an instant change in the mood.

"Wednesday." And she's looking at the floor, trying to will the tears away, hoping he won't notice, but of course he does. And he's standing between her legs, lifting her chin up with his finger, and brushing the lone tear away.

"It's going to be OK." He sounds certain. He's not, and she knows, but it's easier to believe than to question.

"I know. It's just hormones." She sounds sincere. She's not, and he knows, but it's easier to believe than to question.

"It can put its thumb in its mouth now." She smiles weakly, the mood barely lighter. He needs to do better. And with that he's turning the volume up again, and he's singing, using her ice cream spoon instead of a microphone. And with that all the worry is gone, the bubble is back on; her laughter bouncing off of its invisible walls. And she thinks to herself - despite everything, she's lucky – to be in love with her best friend. It's cheesy, but she doesn't mind, instead she simply smiles.

**Week 18**

"Honey, I'm home." He calls out from the doorway, barely managing to stifle a laugh.

"In the bedroom."

"Hi."

"Hi." She's standing in semi-darkness, getting ready for bed. He stops in his tracks taking her in. She's curvier, but still petite, the biggest change being her breasts, which seem like they're about the pup out of her bra. She sees his face and blushes slightly. "You look beautiful. I missed you."

"I missed you too. I didn't expect you until later tonight though."

"I managed to get on an earlier flight. And now I'm glad I have."

"I need to get new bras."

"You could just walk around topless."

"Oh, yeah?" And she's unhooking her bra, slowly dropping it to the floor, walking towards him.

"Liv, you know what the doctor said."

"But I'm horny." And she's pouting and he thinks it might be the most adorable thing in the world. "And she's looking at his crotch, a smirk on her face, "And clearly you are too."

"I am. But no sex. So we're going to cuddle. And talk. And if you behave maybe even kiss a little."

"I don't want to cuddle, and I don't want to talk." And he's walking her over to the bed, she's taking off his shirt and putting it on her. He lies down and pats the space next to him, his eyes inviting her in. "Fine." And it's drawn out, and petulant and they both chuckle.

Once they're comfortably wrapped around each other, intertwined, he kisses her temple and says, "You know it can hear your heartbeat now."

"Yeah?" And she's looking up at him, a wide smile stretching across her face.

"Yeah." And they cuddle, and they talk and it's all either of them could ever want.

**Week 22**

"It's been ten weeks. I've been stuck on bed-rest for ten weeks. I'm bored."

He chuckles, but she doesn't look amused.

"What can I do to make it better?"

"Let me go to work?"

"It's Sunday." He's barely stifling a laugh, but at this point, he knows better.

"So tomorrow? Just for a day?" And he's giving her a scandalized look, a look that says – no way in hell, and over my dead body – all wrapped up in a neat little smile.

"Just for half a day?" And she knows she's fighting a loosing battle, but she doesn't care. She has time, all she has is time. Endless time. At home. With Angry Birds, _Ellen_, and a stack of books. All these books that she kept buying, but never read, leaving them for 'one day'; movies she hadn't seen, because she was too busy living; songs she hasn't heard because she was too never stopped to listen, to let them in, let them wash over her, let them impact her. But now, she has time. All she has is time.

"Not even for half a day." And he's walking over, wrapping his arms around her belly, his head bent down to her shoulder. "How about we play a game?"

"OK. I can play a game." And she grinds against him and then slowly turns around, slipping her hands under his shirt. "Livvie…" He knows what he has to say, but it's been long, too long, and really – he doesn't want her to stop. "Not that kind of game." And he's kissing her head, but it doesn't do the trick for either of them. She's upset, she's frustrated and she's scared, and he is too, but one of them has to stay cool.

"Look you know I want to." And he's pulling her in, kissing her neck, pressing into her back. "But you know we can't. So instead we're going to play a game."

And she's relaxing in his embrace, holding onto his arms, the moment, the anger – gone. "What game?" She's giving in, to reason, into him.

"The one where I suggest baby names and you shoot them down?"

"Really?" And she's excited now, almost giddy. But then there's a flash of fear, panic in her eyes, "Is it too early? I don't want to tempt fate."

"It's just baby names." And they both know that's a lie. It's hope, it's a promise; it's faith overcoming the fear; it's letting themselves fly, despite the chance they'll crash. It's the acknowledgment of this little life.

"How about Clementine?"

"Great name for an orchard."

"The baby's got taste buds now."

"It's still a no."

"Party-pooper." And with that they're bursting into laughter, their voices filling up the space, filling them.

**Week 27**

It's 3am on a Sunday and she just _has_ to have cupcakes. So she's up in the middle of the night, baking. She's trying to reach the paper cups on the top shelf, when he gently lifts her up, kissing her neck.

"What are you doing up?"

"Well when I realized my pregnant wife wasn't in bed I got worried." And there's a hint of seriousness in his tone, not quite masked by the nonchalance.

"I'm sorry." And she is, realizing what must have been the first thought he had. "I'm OK. Just hungry."

"You're meant to be on some semblance on bed-rest. So how can I help?"

"I'm fine. I just couldn't sleep and kept having cupcake fantasies. You can go back to bed. You don't have to stick around for the crazy."

"Hey, you're my crazy and I love my crazy."

"In that case take a seat and keep me company?"

And he does. And he's watching her waltz around the kitchen, looking for anything containing sugar to put in the cupcakes. His navy shirt is tied up in a knot just above her perturbing belly and he notices how much it has grown over the past couple of weeks. And he's smiling unconsciously.

"What?"

"Nothing. You just look _very _pregnant."

"I am _very_ pregnant."

'I know."

But then her face changes, and instantly he's alert. He's been waiting for something to happen, for something to go wrong, for months. He's constantly looking out, constantly worrying, constantly waiting.

"It's kicking." And her hand is reaching for his, putting it on her belly.

"That's because it can recognize our voices now." And they're feeling their baby kick, and it's magical, this life they've created. And he finally succumbs, finally lets go, believes his own memo – it is going to be OK. Nothing is going to happen, nothing will go wrong. He's done waiting for death, they're waiting for a life.

**Week 30**

He wakes up, and for the first time in three weeks the nagging feeling is back. He looks over at her, but she's firmly asleep next to him. Peaceful. His feeling is wrong. And he pulls his hand up to stroke her cheek, and in an instant everything in him sinks into a bottomless pit.

"Liv, wake up!"


	15. The Lucky One Pt 2

**That finale ending was pure torture, I still can't get over it! Ughhhh!**

**Here goes the last chapter (there will be a Prologue, but I'm have a Trusts final next week, so I'm not sure how soon I'll manage to post it).**

**Week 30**

"How is she?" He takes a momentary break in the pacing to look up at the doctor.

"She's OK." A sigh of relief, but then he realizes that's not it, that's not everything. "We managed to stop the bleeding, but she lost a lot of blood, so we're giving her a transfusion. You brought her _just _in time. You saved her life."

And all he can think is how he failed. If he had had a firmer hand, if he had fought her on this, if he had done _anything_ – she wouldn't be lying in the hospital bed right now, and the doctor wouldn't be telling him that she got _lucky_, because she didn't die.

"Can I?" And he doesn't need to finish the sentence, desperation is written all over his face; the need to see her, to make sure for himself – his eyes are giving him away.

"Give us another half an hour and then you can go in. You should go wash up."

And he's looking down at his hands trying to scrub the blood away.

She awakes, and looks around groggily, then a flash of panic across her face – no this can't be happening again. And he feels her body tense, and he lifts his head up to meet her gaze.

"The baby's fine. They stopped the bleeding. And they gave you a transfusion."

"Thank you."

"Don't. No, you don't get to thank me. I should have never let you… I... don't thank me."

"Fitz…"

"No, this is my fault. You were emotionally too attached, your judgment was clouded, I should have known better. I should have done better."

"You couldn't have changed my mind. And you shouldn't have. You're the dad." And he looks up, God it sounds so perfect, so right. "You're allowed to love this baby. You're allowed to want this baby. You're allowed to be emotionally attached and have a clouded mind. Come here." And she's stretching her arm out, and scooting to the side, making space for him on the hospital bed. And he lies next to her, his body engulfing hers, protecting her from the world. And they stay that way for a while, their hands intertwined on her abdomen.

"Livvy, you need to sleep."

"I'm scared." She hates saying it, admitting defeat. He hates hearing it, he can't lose a beat; he needs to fix.

"You're OK. And I've got you." And she's snuggling closer to him, his arms wrapping tighter, holding onto her. "Want me to tell you a story?"

"Sure."

"So, we're driving down I-95. And she's in the backseat."

"Oh, so you've decided it's a she."

"It's got to be."

"Well, since _it's got to be_."

"So, we're driving down I-95 and she's in the backseat. And she's got your eyes and…"

And he tells her a story. He tells her a dream. A makeshift reality. And with that she falls asleep. He doesn't. No he's awake, chasing the demons away, keeping her safe.

/

'We want to deliver the baby in two weeks. Steroids should speed up the lung development and it's our safest bet. And we'll keep you in here until then."

"Do we…?"

"Yes, we have to."

"OK, then." And the doctor leaves them to ponder that.

"Two weeks. We don't even have a name yet." She no longer sounds defeated, just sad. Defeat presumes a fight, and she's given up.

And with that he's pulling a baby names book out of his jacket. "I had Tom pick it up this morning. Should we go through it?"

"Yes." And she's trying to fight back the tears, not of fear, but of love, he'll be an amazing dad.

**Week 31**

"What are we doing? We should not be doing this in the hospital!"

"Well you said you were going stir-crazy after a week, so this is my solution. Turn the camera on."

"We are actually doing this? We are actually Skyping?"

"Yes. You wanted to see me decorate the nursery and we still don't have a name, because _someone_ is being super picky, so we are doing this." And he turns the camera on, and she's taken aback, it takes her breath.

"Fitz…"

"Olivia Pope is speechless. That's a first."

"It's beautiful."

He's in the nursery. He's been there most evenings for the past week. Painting and putting together; welcoming.

"Only the crib's left." And with that he's on the floor, making sense of the lines and signs, hoping it will help him make sense of life.

"It looks a bit wobbly. I feel like you need to press that one in a bit more. Yes, that one."

"It's fine."

"No, definitely wobbly." And with that he's testing it. He looks up, at the screen and she's laughing at him.

"I just wanted to see you flex those muscles a few more times."

And the two rooms are filled with joy, with laughter, with love.

**Week 32**

Today is the day. Today is the day she'll become a mom. Whichever way it goes, the baby will be born, and even if it's for a little while – she will become a mom. She doesn't know how she feels. There are waves of fear, and waves of sadness; but then there are also moments of excitement. When she closes her eyes, all she sees is life. When she closes her eyes, she can feel it's going to be alright. But then she opens them and the light brings in the doubt, it shows her the reality – the worried doctors, and her husband hovering.

"You asleep?"

"No." His eyes are closed, but he's awake; he's there, in her hospital bed, taking care.

"I need you to love the baby anyway."

"What?" And she's turning around. They're face to face; no breathing space; her eyes are on fire, lighting up the tears, and he's stroking her cheek, struggling to breathe.

"If something happens… to me. I need you to love the baby anyway. I know you will, because I know you, but I just need you to say it, I need to hear it; just in case."

"No." And he seems angry, but she knows better, he's scared – and he's trying to hide it away.

"No?"

"No. We are not doing this. I am not making you in-case promises. We are not saying goodbye, and I'm not making it OK for you to die."

"Fitz…"

"No. I'm not… It's going to be OK." He's never wanted to be more right, in his whole entire life.

And they stay like that – intertwined, no space – until the outside world comes in, until they are awoken from their dream.

"It's time." And it's a kiss, soft and quick; the kind that he intends to give her until the end of_ his_ life. And with that they're taking her away, and he's just waiting at bay. But then, it's his mind, the ever-rational one, and he's running, he's catching up, he' saying goodbye. He's whispering into her belly, but loud enough for her to hear, "Daddy will see you in a little bit. I love you to the moon and back, so just you know… keep breathing." And his voice is breaking, and she's squeezing his hand, "It's going to be OK." And she's never wanted to be more right, in her whole entire life.

And with that he steps away, lets go of her hand and weakly waves. It's not a goodbye, she'll come back, and he'll greet her with a –Hi.

**Week 40**

He picks her up and then sits down in the rocking chair, the little girl cooing over being moved.

"Shhhhh. We're a team. So I need you to work with me." And he lowers the bottle into the infant's mouth, singing to her softly. She's done and she's burped, she's perfect and not hurt; she's them, but brand new. And they rock back and forth, falling asleep; breathing in sync.

He can feel her watching, he can feel her there, and with that he's awake.

"Hi." And that beaming smile. He was right, it wasn't, after all, a goodbye.

* * *

**I had a different ending written for this chapter, but after last episode, I just wanted some happy :)**


	16. Epilogue

"Really, really dad? This song is older than I am."

"It's timeless. That's the beauty of it."

"No, it really isn't."

"Hey, that's my line!" Liv feigns offence, as she fires an annoyed look, followed by a smile at her six year-old.

"Can I have some snacks, or have the two of you decided to starve me?" She turns around to look at her husband, her eyes falling on a bag of pretzels on the dashboard.

"There's a bag right there." But he doesn't extend his hand, no instead he tilts his head back, and says, half-serious, half-amused, "I was hoping for some Oreos. The ones in the back." And she gives him a look, she loves this man. The funny him, and the playful one; the thoughtful and the grateful one; the earnest and loving one. She loves all of him, all the time; even when they're in a fight, even when he's having a bad day, or they go to the bed quiet, angry for the night. She loves all of him, all the time.

"Rosie, can you pass me the Oreos." She winks at him, before she turns around; flipping on her seat. She's showing off his favorite shorts, neither of them particularly discreet. The six year-old is amused by the banter, oblivious to the subtext.

"Mommy, can we stop for pie?"

"Sure honey." Minutes later they're getting off of I-95, heading towards the place of holding hands, of shared coffees and shared kisses; of moments so ordinary that for them they are _truly_ extraordinary. They head to the place where pie tastes like home, to a place that's seen them at their best, and helped them through their worst; that's seen their love and experienced their hurt. It's a place of history, it's the place from their dreams. He parks out front, and opens the door, but a hand is pulling him back.

"It's my favorite song." Liv smiles, he knows the drill by now. She's dancing it out, their daughter following suit, they have the exact same moves. There's so much of Liv in her; but then there are glimpses of him too – the sparkle in the cerulean eyes, and the way her lips curl up when she smiles. The song is over, but he barely noticed the seconds pass, too enchanted with his life. They step out of the car, into the warm summer sun, their shadows playfully intertwined on the ground.

"Rosie, do you know the story of the first time you heard that song?" The little girl nods her head no.

"Well, you were in your mommy's tummy. I came into the kitchen, but she couldn't hear me, because the music was so loud – I bet the birds could hear it high up in the clouds. And your mommy was sitting on the kitchen counter eating ice cream for breakfast, singing at the top of her lungs." And her eyes are the size of saucers; she can't believe, her mom, sitting on the counter, and ice cream for breakfast – it's completely outrageous. And she shoots her mother a scandalized look, she's not letting her off the hook.

"You had ice cream for breakfast?!"

"Well, so did you."

"But I don't remember."

"Well I guess you'll just have to get some ice cream to remind yourself now then, won't you?" With that she's running into the diner to scope out her choices. They follow her in, Liv playfully nudging him.

"She's never going to let me hear the end of it."

"Well, that's for telling her that I wanted to name her Clementine." They're walking together, their steps in sync, their fingers lazily intertwined – they've got time. All this time.

She's unlocking the door, they're finally home; he follows her in, their daughter asleep, resting in his arms – it's the perfect fit. They tuck her in, kiss goodnight, turn off the lights and step out.

"I can't believe Cy tried to convince her she should become a Republican."

She chuckles and retorts, "I can't believe she told him she was apolitical."

"I can." And he looks at her, only love in his eyes, it has long overtaken the shadows of the past. He's pulling her in, in for a kiss – it's soft and sweet; the kind that comes with familiarity, with harmony; with a life together; with being a family.

As they're making their way to the bedroom she manages to say, between broken up breaths – "It's good to be back."

They found their way.

* * *

**Sorry! I know that took forever. But I got lost in writing ****_Another Chance_****, and then exams have just been a pain. **

**Anyways, to jump to my point. THANK YOU so much for sticking with the story, I loved reading your reviews, they gave it life. **


End file.
